


Sick Muse

by shir_hashirim



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Preseries, Sibling Incest, Spit Kink, Voyeurism, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24809158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shir_hashirim/pseuds/shir_hashirim
Summary: Dean always makes sure he doesn’t look too long at patches of bare skin, hair stuck to a sweat-slicked forehead, thin wrists, soft baby-pink lips.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 106





	Sick Muse

* * *

Dean stares down at the sink basin, shitty yellow motel lights illuminating the tiny bathroom. He’s fucked up, he _knows_ that. Always has. And he’s always found ways to deal with that. To pretend like he’s normal, that he doesn’t live with feverish, half-baked desires churning in his stomach, tearing up his insides.

Dean always makes sure he doesn’t look too long at patches of bare skin, hair stuck to a sweat-slicked forehead, thin wrists, soft baby-pink lips. 

He feels unclean, wants to scrub his hands until they’re dry and cracked and red. He needs something to do, something to help him calm down. There’s nothing on top of the sink, save for his and Sammy’s blue and purple toothbrushes sitting in a plastic cup from a roadside diner they visited two towns ago. He roots around in the cupboard under the sink to find a new bar of motel soap.

He finds one on top of a spare towel so threadbare and worn that while it used to be blue, now it’s just a dull gray color. He takes the soap out of the plastic and runs it under the water, sliding it between his hands. He turns it over a few times, watching it slip across his palms. It’s a thin bar, more a sheet of soap, really— motels never want to use more products than necessary as a way to save money. 

Dean runs his thumb across the logo embossed on the middle of it, trying to smooth it down to where the rest of the soap is. He presses harder, making a dent in the soap, unable to stop himself from prodding at the inside of it, making the hole even wider, making it yield to his touch. It’s all too easy to push his finger inside, the soap and water keeping it nice and slick.

He realizes what he’s doing, where his mind is going, again. _Fucking hell._

Embarrassed, he takes the soap into his palm and squeezes, crushing the whole thing. The soap is definitely ruined now, and there’s nothing left but for him to try and hide the evidence of what he was doing. He fumbles with the crushed bits under the water, making them dissolve as fast as he can manage.

After getting rid of all traces of the soap, he sighs, resting his elbows on the sinktop. He came in here to wash up, to try to cool himself off, but instead he feels even dirtier than before.

What kind of fucking sicko do you have to be to want to fuck your little brother so badly you can’t go a day without thinking about it?

~

Dean’s not sure when it first started, really. He used to be excited when their dad went off on a hunt by himself, when he got to spend time with just him and Sam. He loved his dad, sure, but watching him fight with Sam was so frustrating that he enjoyed having a break from their yelling and constant arguments. 

When it was just the two of them, there was still pressure on Dean to look out for Sam, but at least he didn’t have his dad breathing over his shoulder, constantly laying down his own rules, making sure he was doing everything right. When it was just the two of them, they were free to do what they wanted. Stay up late watching shitty tv, eating gas-station snacks, swiping from his dad’s ever-present whiskey collection.

Sam was always more relaxed during these moments, too. When he was just around Dean, he wasn’t so self conscious, more willing to do and say what he felt. Dean loved his sarcastic remarks, his intelligent insights, the way he would lean comfortably against Dean’s shoulder while they watched old reruns of Star Trek together. 

It was a world of their own, a peaceful one away from all the fighting and bloodshed they were used to most of the time. They had an unspoken agreement to be there for each other, that they could always trust one another. That kind of intimacy is something Dean knows he will never come close to anywhere else, not with his dad, not with the random girls he picks up at each new town they drive through.

Which is why it’s all the more devastating that he’s found himself in this position. Being _self-conscious_ around Sammy. Keeping secrets from him.

Now, when their dad announces he’s going off on his own, Dean mostly just feels dread.

~

Maybe it started when Sam joined the soccer team. Dean would come to pick him up afterwards, and Sam would come running over to him, covered in sweat, his little uniform covered in dirt and grass stains. He’d grin happily at Dean, still panting from exertion. 

The exercise and the late spring Texas heat would really do a number on him, leaving Sam’s face flushed, the red tint creeping its way down his neck and disappearing underneath his shirt.

Dean would watch his throat bob as he greedily gulped from his water bottle, drinking as fast as he could, trying to regain some of the water that he just sweated out. Dean would hold his breath, and try to not look at him too much.

Worse than the way he looked, maybe, was the way he _smelled_ _._ It was salt, and earth, and so distinctly _Sam_ that it couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else. Impossible to ignore even when he turned away. On the drive back together, it would fill the car, even if the windows were rolled down.

Sam always squirmed around in the car too, never able to sit still. He’d put his feet up on the dash, adjust his sticky sweat-covered thighs on the leather seat.

When Dean fucked girls in his car, he always put a blanket over the seats first, not wanting to get anything on them. Dean would complain to Sam about the sweat stains he was leaving, if only to keep up appearances, but he never asked him to do anything about it. When Sam would hop out of the car and race inside to take a shower, Dean would glance down at the seat with his imprint left behind. It was like he was marking up his car, couldn’t help but leave a trace of himself behind. 

Dean would tell himself that it was different because he was family. The fact that he liked the lingering smell of Sam in the car was just a comfort thing, one of those scents that have just been in his life for as long as he can remember.

Sometimes, if it was really hot outside, as it often was that spring, Sam would take his shirt off too. He’d ball it up and throw it in the backseat along with his soccer cleats, and say it was too gross to keep wearing.

Dean had a lot of thoughts about Sammy in moments like those, but _gross_ certainly wasn’t one of them.

~

Maybe it started even earlier than that, on one of their many long car rides. Sometimes, when Dean got bored of sitting shotgun with their dad, he’d crawl into the back with Sam.

They’d play dumb games, pointing out things they spotted on the drive. Who could find the stupidest billboard sign, cars with license plates from their favorite states, the occasional rare sighting of a strip club or adult video store right off the highway, something always accompanied by gentle ribbing and fake-scandalized laughter.

“Heya Sammy, would you look at that! We should circle around and make a pit stop here later. I betcha Roxie at Buck’s Cabaret is just dying to meet you!”

Sam would shove at him playfully, roll his eyes and grin at him, and then look back out the window for something new to point out.

They’d always talk under their breath when they were in the backseat together, their own little private asides, not meant for dad to hear. When they wanted to say something especially inappropriate, a comment they knew he’d never approve of, they’d lean over and speak into each other’s ears, a breathy, almost-whisper. 

Sometimes Sam would fall asleep in the back, cheek pressed against the window, mouth slightly open. He looked so peaceful, always able to sleep through anything— the rumbling of the car, noises on the road, music filtering out through the tape decks. Sometimes he’d even prop his legs up on Dean’s lap when he could get away with it, claiming that he wanted to stretch out more.

It was hard to toe the line, to not let him in on how much he liked it. Sure, Dean would put up a fuss, and say it's not safe to sit like that in the car, but he never protested that Sam was getting in his personal space, not wanting to deter him too much. 

In the long run, it was better for Sam not to know he could get away with anything if he really wanted to.

With his dad focused on the road ahead, and Sammy sleeping, unguarded, Dean could watch his face— peaceful, relaxed, _young_ _._

Music was playing in the car, their dad’s favorite way to pass the time during these long drives, turned down just a little for Sam’s benefit. A Zeppelin song, one Dean found all too fitting to dwell on as his baby brother slept blissfully and unaware.

_Oh, you know I love you, baby_

_My love for you I could never hide_

_Oh, when I feel you near me, little girl_

_I know you are my one desire, yeah._

~

Then there was the time where, after they’d been in the car for hours, Sam was begging for their dad to pull over somewhere so he could take a leak. They were in the middle of nowhere Arizona, hadn't passed a gas station for ages. When Dean had to go, he’d just pop out of the car and go in a bush somewhere, even piss in an empty bottle if he had to, but Sammy didn’t like doing that if he could avoid it. Eventually, he relented, and they pulled over to the side of the road near some trees.

“Go with him, Dean,” their dad insisted. “Make sure he hurries up and nobody sees y’all. We need to make it into New Mexico by the end of the day.”

Sam already had his seatbelt off, opened the side door and jumped out as soon as the car came to a stop. Dean followed after him, looking behind them to see how busy the road was. There were a few cars driving past, but Dean felt like they were far enough away that nobody would really notice them unless they knew where to look.

By the time he caught up with Sam, he had already found a secluded tree, and was fumbling to open the button on his shorts. Dean watched, a little amused at first. After he got his pants undone, Sam braced one hand on the tree trunk, the other making its way under the waistband of his boxers, fisting his little cock.

Dean looked away, but it was too late, the image already seared into his head. Gazing up at the cloudless sky, he tried as hard as he could not to listen to the steady stream, to Sam’s relieved sigh, the sound of him tucking himself back into his shorts and zipping them up.

“You done there, kid?” Dean called out, tried to ignore the way his pulse was racing. 

“Gimme a minute,” Sam replied, “I wanna walk around for a bit, we’ve been stuck in the car for too long.”

“Dad said we had to be fast,” Dean said, admonishingly.

Sam scoffed, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked towards his brother. “It’s one minute, Dean. It’s not gonna make that much of a difference.”

“I’m supposed to be in charge out here, you know that right? That means you have to do what I say.”

“What are you gonna do, drag me back to the car?” Sam dared.

“Don’t make me,” Dean said, warningly. He made a grab at Sam, who just dodged him with a smirk.

Dean folded his arms and looked hard at Sam, tried to seem as authoritative as possible.

Sam eventually gave in with a sigh, allowed himself to be corralled back to the car.

Dean couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that he didn’t get a chance to put his hands on Sam. He would have _carried_ him back to the car if Sammy let him.

~

It might have started that time at a motel in Nebraska. It had been a while since they had done laundry, so Sam was rooting around in Dean’s bag looking for a clean shirt to borrow. Dean was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, so he didn’t notice what Sam was up to, was just listening to his running commentary on some book he was reading for school. He was talking about some Greek myth, something about two people who started a new human race by throwing stones behind their backs. Dean wasn’t really paying attention, he just enjoyed hearing the sound of Sammy’s voice. The way it would speed up and get louder once he got into whatever he was talking about. The kid really did have a good head for literature and that kind of stuff.

When Sam went quiet, Dean popped his head out of the bathroom to see what was going on. Sam was staring intently down at something in his hands. Dean walked over to him, his heart lurched when he saw what he was holding. It was one of his Playboys— a good one, too: the November 1993 edition. Its contents were pretty obvious, with three barely-covered girls posing seductively, the text on the side identifying them as THE TRIO FROM RIO: BRAZIL’S AMAZING TRIPLETS.

Dean had taken it out of his hands with a laugh, told Sam he wasn’t old enough to be looking at this kind of stuff yet. When he looked back at him, he was surprised to see his cheeks were flushed, and he was looking down at his feet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to find that,” Sam said sheepishly. 

“Do you, like—” Sam started to say, before he cut himself off with a shake of his head, “never mind, it’s not important.”

“No, what is it?” Dean coaxed. “You know you can ask me anything, right?”

“Do you jerk off to that kind of stuff?” Sam said, startling Dean. He didn’t know how to handle this conversation, or why Sam would ask him that, so he decided to just play it off.

“Well, I’m not reading them for their literary merit, I can tell you that much.”

“Right, yeah.” Sam said quickly. “Okay, just wondering. I was just in your bag to borrow a shirt, is there one I can wear for today?”

Grateful for the change in topic, Dean quickly rummaged through his stuff and tossed an old AC/DC shirt at him.

“There you go, we’ll try to find a laundromat soon, okay? Hope my clothes will do for now.”

He already knew about a laundromat that was nearby, had seen it when they first drove into town. He’d tell himself he hadn’t gone over there yet because he was too lazy, but the part of him that liked seeing Sammy in his clothes knew it was for another reason.

Lots of Sam’s clothes were hand me downs in the first place, but something about him wearing one of Dean’s favorite shirts, the wide collar leaving his neck exposed, the huge fabric making him look even younger than he already was, made the pit in Dean’s stomach churn.

The next time he found himself alone at the motel, he got out that Playboy. Sure, he looked at the pictures of the girls as he got himself off, but the thoughts that went through his mind as he came were of a different sort entirely. Not like that was anyone’s business. He stared at the girls in the magazine, who were smiling up at him playfully. 

Dean was getting pretty good at convincing himself of what he wanted to believe.

~

Maybe it started when the three of them were out at a gun range, dad teaching them how to shoot properly. Dean had already been practicing for a while, he was mostly there for Sam’s benefit, as motivation for him to take the whole process seriously. 

Sam hated target practice, always protested loudly every time their dad dragged them off to some tucked away range at the edge of town. They shot at beer cans and drawn-on cardboard for hours, while dad gave orders on how Sam should correct his aim, how to reload faster. After the sun had started to go down, he left them alone to go have a beer with one of his hunter friends at a nearby bar. Left the car with them so they could make it back to the motel on their own, a sign that he probably wouldn't be back for the rest of the night. Before he headed out, he told Dean to spend some time walking Sammy through the motions of disassembling and cleaning his gun.

Sammy was worn out from the day, and Dean had to ply him with promises, told him that he could pick the movie they would watch tonight if he paid attention. Dean talked him through the process, explained how you should clean your gun after every time you use it to prevent stuff from building up inside of it. Showed him how to clean out the barrel with a cleaning rod, how to soak the rod in solvent and work it in and out of the gun to do a thorough job.

Cleaning guns and fixing cars always made Dean’s mind go to strange places. He couldn’t help it.

Sam seemed to be on the same train of thought, a smirk lined his face as he read the label of the bottle. _Liberty Lubricants: Synthetic Firearms Oil, 4 Oz._

With a grin, Dean reached over and took the bottle out of his hands.

“Next, you’re gonna want to oil up the inside of the barrel, get it nice and ready for the next time you’re gonna fire it. Always make sure you’re using a good quality lube for your guns, you know?”

“Shut up, I get the idea,” Sam said. He opened his palm out for Dean to hand him back the bottle. “Gimme that, I can do it.”

Dean gave it back to him, watched as he finished the cleaning job. When he was done, he wiped the sweat off his cheek, leaving behind a streak of dirty oil. 

“Nice going, Sammy, A-plus on the lube job. Got something on your face there, though.” Dean said. 

He watched as Sam lifted the bottom of his shirt up to try to wipe it off unsuccessfully, exposed a wide swathe of pale midriff in the process. He wasn’t old enough to have a happy trail yet, just a thin smattering of barely-there peach fuzz grazing his stomach. Nothing anyone would even see unless they were looking very closely, which Dean was.

Dean walked over to grab a washcloth from one of the nearby supply drawers, and ran it under the sink to get it wet. He brought it back over to Sam.

“Let me get that.”

Sam held still as Dean grabbed his chin with one hand, and used the other to gently wipe at his cheek. They were so close, Dean could feel Sam’s breath against his face, could hardly breathe himself.

He did his best to not look Sam in the eye, instead focused on the stain on his cheek, rubbed in circular motions to get it all off. After he was done, he stepped back without a word, made his way back over to the sink so he could rinse the washcloth out.

He hung it off the edge of the sink basin to dry, and by the time he was done, Sam was already gathering the guns up to bring them back out to the trunk of the car.

Dean watched as he walked off. Watching never hurt anybody, right?

~

If Dean had known earlier that this was going to happen, he would have found some excuse to go out. To find some random girl and take her to a midnight screening of whatever was playing at the shitty movie theater in town, to fuck her in the car on top of blankets afterwards.

Their dad was out a few towns over, working on some new leads for their latest hunt— an angry shapeshifter who was killing college professors all across Kentucky.

Sam and Dean had decided to stay in, had a nice evening eating Kraft mac and cheese and watching _The Towering Inferno_ , rented from the video store across the street from their motel.

The movie was long as hell, clocking in at almost three hours, and afterwards, they had settled into bed as usual. Dean was just starting to drift off into sleep when he heard it.

Small, uneven breaths coming in from the bed next to him. The slight shuffle of fabric. He strained his ears and could even make out the faint wet sounds of Sam sliding his hand over his cock.

Dean felt like he was intruding, wished more than anything that he _was_ asleep. Sure, he had his fair share of late-night jerk off sessions with Sam in the bed next to him, but only when he was absolutely sure that he was already asleep. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to show any indication that he was awake, not wanting to embarrass Sam.

At least, that was what he told himself. It was for Sammy’s benefit, of course. Had nothing to do with the fact that this was close as Dean was ever gonna get to having Sam in the way he wanted. Quiet snatches of hitched breathing, the knowledge that his little brother was only a few feet away from him, getting himself off, making himself feel good.

Dean wondered how he liked to touch himself, if he preferred it harder or softer, faster or slower. Did he jerk off a lot, or was this more of a special occasion? Was there any reason in particular he was jerking off now, maybe from a hot girl in the movie they just watched, some fantasy he was conjuring up in his head? Was he thinking about how Dean was in the bed next to his, how he had to keep himself quiet in order to not disturb him?

Dean had one hand inside the waistband of his boxers, not daring to stroke his cock, but holding it tightly. He was already hard, his body betraying him, leaking with precome smeared by his shaking fingertips. He tried to maintain the appearance of sleep, taking deep, even breaths. 

Sam came with a muffled gasp, sounding like he had to bury his face in the blankets just to keep himself quiet. Dean could all too easily picture him spilling over into his shorts, his hand sticky and coated in his own come.

He didn’t do anything to clean himself up, leaving Dean to wonder if he was planning to just go to sleep like that. Or, another thought. Sammy putting his thin, girlish fingers into his mouth, lapping up the salty-sweet mess.

Dean sat there in the dark for a long time afterwards, so hard it hurt, not daring to move a muscle. After what must have been an hour, he finally got up and locked himself in the bathroom.

~

After the stupid soap incident, Dean was still hard, feeling hot all over and more than a little nauseous. If it was a normal time, he would just jump in the shower and get himself off, but jerking off silently into the toilet at 3 in the morning seemed too pathetic and depraved, even for him. He resigns himself to just going back to sleep. If he ignores his dick for long enough, eventually it will just go down on its own. 

Tomorrow he’ll go out and look for someone to fuck. There was that college chick they interviewed the other day over at Kentucky Mountain Bible College who had left her number with Dean in case they needed to reach her again. Repressed Christian chicks were usually a good bet, closet freaks with daddy issues who were more than happy to get into some fucked up shit. Not like Dean was any different, really.

He quietly unlocks the door of the bathroom and opens it slowly, trying to prevent it from creaking too much. He tiptoes back over to his bed, resolutely passing by Sam’s bed without looking at it. 

He should have, though, because once he climbs back into his own bed, he realizes he’s not alone. A warm body is lying in the center of the bed, head resting on the pillow, soft hair sprawled out around him.

“Sammy, what are you doing?” Dean asks, startled. He angles himself away, not wanting to give any indication that he’s still hard.

“What are _you_ doing still up?” Sam retorts back, looking out at Dean, face just barely visible in the dark. The only light streaming into the room is from the small window on the wall near the door, close to where Dean’s bed is. Dean always takes the bed closest to the door, that way if anything or anyone ever tries to get in, they would have to get through him first before they could get to Sammy.

“Nothing, just woke up and had to go to the bathroom,” Dean says, voice quiet even though they are the only ones in the room. “Go back to your own bed, Sammy.”

Dean is about to turn himself over to face away from him, when Sam reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“I know you heard me earlier, Dean.” he says, voice soft but urgent. “I wanted you to hear me.”

“Sammy, what? What are you talking about?” Dean says, alarmed, feigning ignorance. No way this could be happening, his baby brother admitting to his face that he was jerking off for _him_ _._ He wonders if he’s dreaming. Stuff like this only happens in the sick and twisted confines of his mind. But not _here_ _,_ not coming from his little brother’s mouth, his pink bitten lips turned up in a wry half-smile.

“I’ve seen you looking at me, you know,” Sam continues, voice honey-sweet, _seductive_ _,_ even. “So many times. I keep waiting for you to reach out and touch me, but you never do. There’s been so many times I’ve just wanted to scream at you, to fucking _do something_ already.”

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Sam puts a finger to his lips, not letting him. The act stops Dean in his tracks, and it takes everything in his power not to slide the finger into his mouth, to feel it under his tongue and get it nice and spit-wet.

“No, shut up. It’s my turn to talk right now,” Sam continues, insistently. “If you weren’t so busy looking away from me all the time once you’ve taken your little peek, you’d notice how many times I’ve been looking right back at you.”

“Remember that time when I found your little Playboy magazine? And I asked you if you jerked off to it? I was only acting weird about it because I was upset. I didn’t want you to be jerking off thinking about those girls, I wanted you to be jerking off thinking about _me.”_

Dean’s ears are burning, his whole body hot with want. Sam continues talking, his voice moving from urgent to desperate. _Begging_ to be touched.

“Please Dean, I need it so bad. I know you heard me. I don’t want to just keep pretending like we are normal brothers. _Nothing_ about our life is normal, why should this be any different?”

Killing monsters and fucking your little brother are two very different things, but Dean can’t bring himself to say that, just looks at him helplessly.

Sam’s hand on his mouth moves to tenderly cup the side of his face. Dean leans into his touch, puts one of his hands on top of Sam’s to secure it in place. 

“Sammy,” he gasps. “ _God_ _._ Of course I was jerking off to you, and not the fucking Playboy models. They don’t hold a candle to you, baby. Never could.”

Dean’s head was spinning. He knew this was fucked up, that it should be up to him to put a stop to this, prevent it from going too far. It was his job to watch out for Sammy, to take care of him. But as he looked into Sam’s pleading eyes, the way his tongue stuck out for the briefest moment to moisten his perfect little cocksuck mouth, he found himself unable to stop from bringing his other hand up to gently card it through Sam’s hair.

He always wore it so long, like a girl. Soft strands trailing down past his ears, almost long enough to kiss the tops of his shoulders. It’s the perfect length for Dean to twist his hands into it and hold tight, if he wanted to. An image flashed through Dean’s head, of Sammy down on his knees, Dean’s hands fisting his hair in a grip as he fucked himself steadily into his mouth. Sammy so eager and desperate, ready to take every inch of his cock, drink down everything Dean can give him. He’d probably even hold his come in his mouth if Dean told him to, savoring the taste on his tongue first until he’s allowed to swallow it down.

“ _Fucking Hell_ _,_ Sammy,” Dean groans. “You sure this is what you want?” he asks, hoping that Sam will come to his senses, or that Dean would suddenly wake up from a dream.

But Sam just nods, lets out a breathy yes, presses his body up closer to Dean’s. He stretches a boy-shy leg in between Dean’s thighs, making his body flush against Dean’s still-hard cock.

“You hard because of me, Dean?” Sam whispers into his ear, before moving down to lick and suck at the skin on his neck. It’s wet and messy, his inexperience clear, which only turns Dean on even more.

“You fucking know it, babyboy,” Dean groans. “Got so hard listening to you touch yourself, fisting your little cock. Wished it were me getting you off, making you come.”

“You can, Dean. Please, I want it so bad. Want you.” Sam says, keening as Dean grabs at him, starts to pull his shirt over his head.

Sam helps him take the rest of it off, leaving his thin chest exposed, his girl-pink nipples visible in the semi-darkness.

Dean runs a loving thumb over one of them, Sam’s breath hitching as he lets his head fall back, trying to expose himself as much as possible.

“Love your pretty tits, gonna put my mouth on ‘em.”

Dean moves his head down to lick at one of his nipples, and Sam gasps, arching himself against him as much as he can.

His whole world has been reduced to this, his hands roaming all over his little brother, mouth hot against his sensitive, twitching body. Although Sam’s the one being touched, Dean’s the one feeling overwhelmed, completely undone. He buries his face in Sam’s chest, wishing he could stay there forever. If he got to pick how he’s gonna die, being smothered right here would be a _divine_ way to go.

“So sensitive for me, baby. Most gorgeous little thing I’ve ever seen.” Dean gasps, reverently. 

“ _God_ _,_ Dean. Please don’t stop, feels so good.” Sam groans out. 

Dean is so turned on now that he’s shaking, lies a hand on Sam’s stomach in an attempt to steady himself. He can feel the faint peach fuzz underneath his fingertips as he rubs his hand across his body. Sam’s breathing hard, and Dean can feel every in and out movement from his chest under his palm. 

He looks up at Sam, his eyes wet and gleaming, full of want. Dean surges over, locking them in a kiss, openmouthed and uncoordinated. He bites and sucks on Sam’s lower lip before working his tongue inside his sweet, hot mouth. Sam responds enthusiastically, doing everything he can to respond, mouth pliant and hungry. 

Eventually, Dean breaks the kiss to come up for air, a thin strand of shiny spit still connecting the two of them. They’re breathing hard, gaze fixed on one another intently.

“Open your mouth, baby,” Dean coaxes, his hand reaching out to grip his face and hold him steady. 

Sam does as he’s told, his glistening, puffy lips parting for him. Dean leans over, face directly above him, letting the spit pool in his mouth before letting it drip down into Sam's. He takes it hungrily, even poking his tongue out to lick his lips, lapping up the extra spit that didn’t make it inside his mouth.

“You look so good like that, swallowing my spit. Bet you’re desperate for it.” Dean praises, unable to take his eyes off of him.

Now that he’s allowed to look at Sam, he’s gonna make damn sure that he gets his fill. He drinks in the sight of him, his little baby brother, so open and eager to please. So innocent yet so _filthy_ at the same time. Looking back at Dean like he’s the only thing that matters in the world.

“I love it, thank you,” Sam whines. “Lemme suck you, please. Want you to fill my mouth.”

Dean shudders. It’s too perfect. That Sammy could be fucked up in the same way he is, that they could want the same things. He runs his hand along his side reverently, Sam leaning into every touch.

“Yeah Sammy? Wanna suck my dick?” Dean says, taking one of his hands off of Sam to slide it down under the waistband of his boxers. He palms his cock, achingly hard, while Sam looks down at the bulge, eyes fixed and hungry.

Before Dean even gets a chance to pull it out, Sam moves down to him, head nestling in between his legs. Dean shudders, watches as Sam nuzzles his face up against his cock, tonguing at the fabric tenting over it, leaving behind a dark wet patch. He inches the waistband down carefully, presses his face right back in, trailing his tongue all down his length.

Dean takes his cock into his hand, rests it against Sam’s cheek. Sam’s lips part, wet and open, and Dean feeds it into his mouth. Sam can only take in the first few inches, but he swallows it down eagerly. It’s a sloppy, spit-soaked affair, with Sammy doing his best to make it good for Dean, his enthusiasm more than making up for his lack of skill.

In its own way, Dean thinks it’s hot that Sam doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows it’s because he’s never done this before, which means that Dean is the first one who gets to have him like this. It’s messy and imperfect, but hotter than anything else Dean has ever experienced. He grips Sam’s hair and guides him gently as he sucks on his cock, mouth stretched. 

“You doin’ okay down there, Sammy?” Dean asks. Sam makes a pleased hum in response, not taking his mouth off, which just makes Dean groan as he feels the vibration travel through him.

Sam brings his mouth up to the tip of Dean’s cock, lapping at it with his tongue and leaving behind soft, sweet kisses. His face is flushed, his hair a mess from where Dean’s been pulling at it. Sam runs a hand up and down Dean’s inner thighs, making him shiver. Dean’s done that sort of thing with girls before, but having it done to himself is a heady experience, the soft skin sensitive and tingling.

Sam puts his lips back around the length of Dean’s cock, getting it further in this time, clearly trying to push himself to take it deeper. Tears well up in the corner of his eyes, but he remains determined and eager. Dean thrusts himself into his mouth, gently at first, but then losing himself in the rhythm, of how good the tight wet heat feels. His whole body feels hot, waves of pleasure washing over him. 

“Sammy, wait. Gonna come soon,” he gasps, trying to stop his motions to give Sam a chance to pull off his cock. Instead, Sam only bobs his head faster, working harder to make Dean feel good.

“God, you want my come in your mouth, don’t you baby? Such a good boy for me,” Dean groans, knowing he’s close. He makes a few more thrusts into Sam’s mouth, before coming with a shudder. Sammy coughs, having trouble swallowing it all, but rather than spitting it out, he swallows it down, licking the excess off of Dean’s cock until it’s clean.

Dean pulls him up for a kiss, tasting himself inside Sam’s mouth. He feels Sam press up against Dean’s leg, grinds his hips into him a few times before coming with a shaky gasp. Dean kisses him through his orgasm, feeling drunk with pleasure.

He brushes aside Sam’s hair off his sweat slicked forehead, startled all over again by how Sam’s looking at him. He thought he knew everything about Sam, knew all of his expressions and mannerisms. But _this,_ seeing him post-orgasm, looking at Dean like he never wants to look anywhere else, is something he’s never seen before.

Sam presses his forehead against Dean’s for a moment before drawing back to grin at him. 

“You know what this means, right?” Sam asks.

Dean tenses, unsure what Sam’s talking about. He doesn’t know what things will be like for them in the future, still can’t really wrap his head around how Sam is feeling about all of this.

“What?” he asks, hesitantly.

“You can throw away those stupid Playboy magazines now,” Sam retorts with a grin.

Dean laughs, relieved. They’re going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, I just wanted to say thank you so much!! I started watching Supernatural for the first time this year and I've honestly been having a blast, so I really wanted to write something about Sam and Dean.
> 
> Title is from a Metric song with the same name.


End file.
